


hammering in my head

by RowboatCop



Series: i knew you were mine for the taking [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: :), Daisy kidnaps Coulson, F/M, clandestine makeouts, coulson is a sad sexy baby deer, daisy's mobile office, daisy's van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy kidnaps Coulson for her birthday -- angsty sweaty van makeouts.</p>
<p>(Why yes, I do plan to make this a series of one-shots where Daisy kidnaps Coulson for makeouts and sexy tiems.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	hammering in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



He’s standing just to the side of a taco truck, waiting on his order, when a leather clad arm wraps around his neck, a hand clasped over his mouth.

Reflexes kick in, and he shoots his left elbow back, but he makes no contact, as though his assailant was prepared for the move.

Then lips brush his ear and a familiar voice says:

“Relax, Phil.”

Like that, Coulson goes still, though it feels like his heart turns into a hummingbird.

“Skye?” He breathes the name against her fingers, soft and high pitched so his voice almost breaks against her fingers.

She laughs, but her hand moves away from his mouth, brushes his chin, and rests against his neck.

“Daisy.” He clears his throat. “Dammit, sorry. Daisy. Daisy.” He swallows. “Daisy?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, breath washing over his cheek, her arm still bent around his neck.

“This isn’t safe.”

“I know,” she agrees.

“Are you okay?”

“Mostly,” comes the answer, her voice a little small, and he wants to turn around and look at her more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life. He doesn’t, though, instead stays still and sort of relaxes back against her.

“I miss you,” he sighs because he doesn’t know what else to say. She ran because she had to run, because it was that or be registered, because she has promises to keep that don’t fit with Director Talbot’s list.

“I miss you, too,” she answers, voice quiet and more than a little sad. “Did you know it’s my birthday?”

It brings him up short.

“No? When…”

“My parents told me. Back —”

“I missed your birthday last year?”

She laughs, and the arm around his neck slides down, becomes a full hug, and he swallows almost painfully as he tries to hug back, as he touches her leather-clad forearms where they wind around his chest.

Daisy has never been one for instigating contact like this, and it worries him.

“My office is nearby,” she tells him. “Will you…”

“Yeah.”

And tacos are already forgotten; he’s more than happy to do pretty much whatever she wants.

He’s not expecting the bag over his head, though.

It’s dark and warm and smells a little like rotten apples.

“You know this isn’t necessary, right?”

“I’m bringing the enemy into my secret headquarters. Of course it’s necessary.” Her voice sounds playful, though. “At least I don’t have another big goon in a suit.”

“Payback?” He scoffs, but can’t hold back a smile at the memory of the first day they met. “This is _payback_?”

“Hmm,” she half agrees, and guides him down the street with her hand pressed between his shoulderblades. “When will Mack miss you?”

“Not for a while.”

“Good,” she answers, and he’s not sure if that’s promising or threatening.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on us?”

He’s sort of just assumed that Daisy has known his whereabouts. She’s off the grid — almost impossible to find until a news story gives them a clue — but they’re not. And it’s been a comfort, almost, to imagine that she knows where he is and what he’s doing.

“You’ve been making it pretty easy,” she agrees — half-defensive, maybe.  

“I know.”

He smiles into his canvas bag and Daisy’s fingers curl into his back, and he’s glad he’s only wearing a t-shirt today, glad he can feel her hand so easily.

They walk for about three blocks, two left turns and a right — not that he’ll be retracing these steps later — and then he hears the sound of a van door opening.

“I thought you said we were going to your office.”

“Mobile office,” she answers, and he can hear her smile.

“You got your van back?”

“The ATCU didn’t even figure _that_ out?”

“I hear the guy they put in charge of the operation has been really half-assing it.”

She laughs and slides her hand up his back to duck him into the van, pushes him back so he’s pressed up against the side.

“How did you get put in charge, anyways?”

He can hear her shifting, the sound of leather, and he imagines her sliding out of her jacket.

“Playing nice,” he sighs. “Talbot thinks you betrayed me.”

“So you’re bitter and betrayed by the rogue Inhuman Quake?”

She tugs the bag over his head, and he’s momentarily blinded by the bright afternoon light streaming through van’s window, so it takes a moment to see her expression — worried, genuinely nervous.

As though she actually betrayed him. As though she could ever do anything that would make him love her less.

He smiles at her, wide and relieved, nothing but happy to see her face for the first time in two months. She’s cut her hair shorter, dyed it lighter, but she’s still _Daisy_. Daisy in a tank top, with her perfect shoulders and her perfect neck and her perfect everything.

“Bitter and angry,” he agrees, but his voice is too soft, and he also reaches out to touch her, to set a soft index finger against her cheek, tentative like maybe he isn’t allowed.

Daisy catches his hand, though, and presses it to her face.

“Coulson,” she sighs his name and tilts her cheek to rub against his fingers. He can feel the slight flush of sweat at the edge of her hairline, and the matching sweat gathering at his temples.

It’s _hot_ in the back of her van, the stillness of the air heightening the heat so that he feels his shirt stick to the small of his back and his jeans slightly damp against this thighs.

He suddenly feels so _present_ in his body, intensely aware of the way he’s half-sprawled across the free half of her van, the Daisy kneeling between his legs, the her hand on top of his hand on her cheek, of the sweat and the heat between them, and it feels...dangerous.

Because he doesn’t think of Daisy like...like someone who could be dangerous, like someone who could be kneeling between his legs while he feels himself in his body, in his belly and his limbs and his knee, where her right hand rests.

He swallows, tries to break the tension.

“So you’ve got me in your secret headquarters. What are you going to do with me?”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, and he blushes profusely.

“I didn’t mean —”

“I was thinking you could help me celebrate my birthday.”

He can feel his whole face go soft.

“Of course,” he answers instantly because...of course. “If I’d have known, I would have made you a cake.”

“I know,” Daisy answers, with a little smile, almost shy in a way that’s completely at odds with the way she slides closer to him, with the way she releases his right hand from her cheek only drop her hand to his thigh, squeezing over denim. “But I had something else in mind.”

“Oh,” Coulson breathes the word, which dissolves into a groan as Daisy presses herself closer  so he feels her body between his thighs. And he wishes he were a good enough man to push her away, to hold onto the fact that she’s young and must think of him as a father figure.

(He always manages to forget that she’s young — so fucking young — and then her youth smacks him in the face and he hates himself.)

Instead of doing the rational thing, though, he wraps his fingers around her waist, ostensibly holding her slightly away from him but mostly just holding her, feeling her body expand with each breath.

He can’t push her away, is the thing, not even as the heat between them becomes almost unbearable, the heat of her palm through his jeans and of her stomach under the tank top. Sweat beads on her upper lip, and it’s all he can do to stare.

The silence hangs heavy in the hot hair between them, and he can almost read the doubt creeping into Daisy’s expression. He squeezes his fingers around her waist, some kind of offering because he hates to see her doubting herself even if he has no idea what’s going on.

She’s been lonely, obviously. She’s been lonely, and he gets that.

Still, he manages to be more than a little shocked when she leans in to kiss him, just presses her lips against his like it’s a natural step. He’s too shocked to pull away, too shocked to push her back, too shocked to do anything but gasp against her mouth.

But then her tongue brushes his, and it’s like his body throbs in time with his escalating heartbeat, like every touch of her lips and tongue tingles down his spine, so he can’t help but respond.

His hands end up on her bare stomach, feeling the soft, smooth heat of her skin directly against his palms. Daisy lets out a little sound — a quiet little pleased noise — and he slides his hands up until his fingers make contact with the bottom of her bra. He presses his thumbs along the underwire, silently curses the thick molded cotton that means he can’t even really feel _her_ underneath, but lets her breasts fill his hands anyways, swallows the tiny moans she breathes into his mouth.

It’s her hands moving up his thighs that do him in. Her fingers brush over his cock, and even through the thick layer of denim, it’s too much, pushes him too close to an edge he wasn’t aware they were approaching.

Coulson groans, loud and low and a little helpless, and Daisy finally pulls back.

Her eyes are wide as she slides away from him, sitting on her knees in the tiny space in the back of her van, and he must look exactly as shocked as he feels. It feels somehow hotter, and as they stare at each other, a drop of sweat runs down the side of his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” he shakes his head because the idea that she would feel _sorry_ … Even if he has no idea what any of this means, she shouldn’t feel _sorry_. “You don’t have to be —”

“I know you don’t…” She shakes her head.

“It’s...fine,” he tries to soothe her because there’s no problem here, but he’s also not sure what it is.

She frowns.

“Only fine?”

“You’re lonely. It makes sense that you might...” He trails off because he’s not exactly sure that any of this makes sense.

“I’m lonely,” she agrees.

She looks like she has more to say, but whatever it might be is cut off when his phone rings in his pocket. He fishes it out, too aware of his cock still almost pulsing behind his zipper.

“Coulson,” Mack greets him before he has a chance to say anything. “I just got a call from HQ; there are rumors about Tremors in the city.”

“You don’t say,” he answers, maybe even manages to sound natural about it.

“Talbot wants us with the team in twenty.”

“Right,” Coulson agrees, and hangs up.

He looks at Daisy, still kneeling so close to him, the air between them so thick with more than the heat.

“You have to leave to go look for me, huh?”

She half-smiles at her words, and Coulson tries to smile back. The thought of leaving her makes it hard to smile, though.

“You could come home,” he offers, even though he knows she won’t. He’s not even sure it’s what he really wants.

“So Talbot can register me and use me how he wants?”

Coulson frowns, wants to offer a rebuttal, but he has none.

“I miss you,” is all that comes out, pathetic and sad and small.

Daisy closes the space between them to touch his cheek, and it settles somewhere in the back of his brain that actually she doesn’t think of him as a father figure, and actually there’s nothing wrong with this.

He doesn’t know what it is, still, but there’s nothing wrong with it.

“Maybe I’ll kidnap you again,” Daisy offers, “the next time I’m feeling lonely.”

And he tries to frown, but he can feel his eyes too soft and longing.

“Be careful,” he says instead.

“You, too.”

Coulson nods, and holds back a desire to touch her again.

“Happy birthday, Daisy.”

She kisses him once more, too fast for him to even respond, and then opens the door of her van, letting in a breeze that stirs the air between them.


End file.
